


Lazarus

by KathyIsWeird



Series: Lazarus [1]
Category: American Horror Story
Genre: F/F, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:13:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathyIsWeird/pseuds/KathyIsWeird
Summary: Cordelia spends some time in Misty's cabin.





	Lazarus

The soulful seance of the Louisiana swamp rose in a sensory crescendo, enveloping anyone listening into it’s natural lullaby. Cicadas shrieked while the swamp toads called out in a purposeful baritone. The fireflies illuminated the still waters, casting an eerie glow that made the entire swamp look like a luxurious pool. 

 

The simplicity of the slow churning waters were calming. The slow rise and fall of the waves against the banks struck Cordelia as sort of metaphor for human life. Right now the water was sleeping. If you’d asked Misty Day, she’d tell you something about how the “the swamp held more life than mos’ of the people on this earth.” to her, the Earth was “a magical woman and she cared for her creatures as any proper mama would.” Misty did that often; she would see the magic in the simplest of things. 

 

But in this case, no amount of enchanted mud or resurgence could conjure the swamp witch out of a pile of ash that sat between Cordelia’s feet as she stood looking out of the dark Bayou. 

 

“You did tell me that I would come to appreciate the swamp.” Cordelia bent down and snatched the urn out of the mud, feeling foolish to even think that the swamp would grant her any favors. This was not her home, this place was not meant for her. She was an intruder and it would be wise to mind her place. 

 

Perhaps Cordelia’s anger at the swamp was misplaced.

 

She’d failed at so many things in her life: being a witch and a wife were the two glaringly obvious ones. Motherhood, leadership, and interpersonal relationships were some of the smaller, yet still deeply important roles she’d managed to bungle. 

 

With a defeated sigh, she padded back into the cabin and sat timidly on Misty’s bed. Was it still her bed or did it belong the swamp?. Did necromancers have beneficiaries? She laid back against the rough sheets and actively did not fix her skirt that had ridden up a little too much to be considered classy. It was a small act of defiance, but right now that’s all she could handle. Besides, who was she trying to impress? Everyone in her life that held a piece of her heart was dead. Finally she decided to just shimmy her skirt off and kick it across the room. It flitted to the ground and landed on top of a broken radio.

 

A warm breeze fluttered through the cabin, making the candlelight dance across the wooden beams like small spirits parading about. It was dreadfully humid, something she’d forgotten about after spending much of her life in air conditioned houses and luxury vehicles. Her back started to sweat against the sheets of Misty’s bed, making her shirt stick and grow heavier throughout the night. With defeated, lifeless fingers, she unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall to the floor - wrinkles be damned. 

 

She laid there in a chemise, a picture of formality and class, against a set of repurposed sheets and hand-sewn pillows. She didn’t belong here. This was Misty’s bed, her cabin, her safe place. But, right now Cordelia needed to be as close to Misty as she could. Short of traveling to hell, which as appealing as it sounded was not an option, the bayou sanctuary of her favorite swamp princess would have to do. 

 

It was obvious to Cordelia that this type of mourning was not proper for a simple acquaintance. But Misty Day was far from simple and further than an acquaintance. There was not a word that she knew of to describe a bond that transcended mere friendship. Their souls had bonded but neither of the two had ever broached the subject. Were they just friends? Were they simply members of the same coven?

 

Misty Day was an ethereal benevolent light who’s luminescence was osmosed to anyone lucky enough to be near her. A beacon of resurgence, the Queen of the bayou was anything but simple. Naive? Maybe a little bit - but if only because the absolute purity of her existence was omnipresent. 

 

And acquaintance?

 

Hardly. 

 

From the first moment their hands intertwined in the doorway of the Academy - the slight trembling and rough patches of dirt still caked to her fingers sent Cordelia into a vision that twisted her heart and nearly made her cry out in rage against the terrible mob that had targeted this divine being in front her. It wasn’t until later on that night when she could hear the witch crying in her shower that Cordelia even realized just how traumatized Misty truly was. It had taken a lot of late nights in the greenhouse and a lot of too-long embraces before Misty would even let her guard down long enough to tell Cordelia about her past. Every brush of hands on shoulders or congratulatory high-fives brought more insight into Misty’s life to the point where Cordelia felt uncomfortable. 

 

The first four days that the swamp witch had stayed at Mrs. Robichaux’s, she’d slept on a futon in Cordelia’s room. At first, the nightmares she had would wake the whole floor. Cordelia surmised that being burned alive by your peers was not something one just  _ got over.  _  So, on the fifth night the supreme patted the spot on the edge of her bed and told Misty that she missed sleeping next to someone (even though Hank hadn’t been there in a very, very long time). When Misty sat precariously on the edge of her bed and looked apprehensive, Cordelia waited until she could see her relax before laying against the pillows and closing her eyes. 

 

It soon became their nightly routine. Misty would meditate to Stevie while Cordelia finished up whatever work she needed to do for the Academy. Eventually one of them would finish what they were doing and they’d get ready for bed. They’d chit chat in the dark for a little while, the intimacy of the act not lost to Cordelia.

 

_ “Ya know, I ain’t too good with people no more. I’m sorry if this is weird for you. I…-” _

 

_ “Misty it’s...” _

 

_ “-I just don’t do so well when I’m alone no more. I did it when I had’ta.” _

 

_ “Misty, you don’t owe me an explanation. I understand.” _

 

_ “Ya do?” _

 

_ “Every person I’ve ever loved has wanted nothing more than for me to be dead.” _

 

_ “Gosh, Miss Cordelia, that’s somethin’ terrible. I don’t know what’d be worse, not havin’ anyone around to love ya, or not havin’ anyone period.” _

 

_ “Me neither, Misty Day. But, I don’t think we have to worry about that anymore.” _

 

_ “I’d reckon.” _

 

Every minute of her time at the Academy, Misty cloaked them with a blanket of peace. Cordelia thought even the plants felt the love radiating from the witch. Perhaps it was fitting that she’d been locked away from society under the guise of false death for so long. Every time someone was exposed to Misty, they fell a little more in love with her. 

 

Or maybe that was just what happened to Cordelia. 

 

The cicadas startled her out of her reverie and she jumped up. Her cheeks warmed as she blushed in embarrassment. She really should be getting back to the Academy - she’d told the girls that she was just going out for a stroll. 

 

She looked around the cabin for anything to wear that didn’t involve damp silk or pantyhose and smiled when she found one of Misty’s long dresses in a chest. With minimal tears, she embraced the fabric and inhaled the scent. She put the dress on and smiled at how strange she must look with her ruined makeup and swamp hair. On her way out of the cabin, she stopped at the edge of the swamp and looked to the big silver moon watching over her. 

 

Something deep in the recesses of her mind told her that Misty belonged here. This was where she had died, revived, and was dead once more. A cool breeze, different from the normal New Orleans wind swelled as Cordelia lifted the lid of the urn and tipped it over the waters. The ash floated and coated the water. 

 

Tears poured down Cordelia’s face as she said goodbye to a lost chance at happiness. Maybe some day they’d meet again, but for now she trudged away from the swamp with an empty urn and empty heart. 

 

_ All your life you've never seen _

_ A woman taken by the wind _

_ Would you stay if she promised you heaven? _

_ Will you ever win? _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! I'm contemplating a second part. Let me know what you think. :)


End file.
